


Sunshine Superman

by ColourShot



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Ghost Neil, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Tags May Change, Talking To Dead People, song fic...kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29328690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColourShot/pseuds/ColourShot
Summary: Quietness was a killer, if only they’d been louder. And now it was doing its job of killing them too.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Sunshine Superman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that this fic does deal with death and grief! If the tags don't already imply that. If you're still interested (well why did you click on this if you're not? :P) then I hope you enjoy! Or...not. I never know if I should wish people to enjoy angst...

It had started off as a relatively normal day, Vyvyan supposed. At least it had for him; chasing Rick down the stairs, laughing as the poet yelled. Into the living room, ready to sit and complain about breakfast. Just as he did every morning. 

“Here’s, like, breakfast.” It was tossed onto the table without much care. Mike mostly ignored the food in front of him, instead just turning a page in his paper while Vyvyan and Rick screwed up their faces.

“What’s this, _hippie?_ ” Vyvyan rather roughly gestured to the food.

“It’s breakfast, Vyv. I should think you should be able to see that.” The hippie in question sounded tired. 

“I can see that, it’s just that it’s bollocks, isn’t it?” Vyvyan pushed his plate away. Neil almost slammed the ladle he was holding down in response - making a few of them jump.

“You could, like, be a little more considerate...since it’s, like…” Neil didn’t finish his sentence, seeming to have regretted starting it. Rick guessed where that sentence had been going though.

Oh you’ll just say _anything_ to impwess us, won’t you Neil?” He snorted. Neil sat down, turning to Rick.

“What? Oh...yeah...right.” The hippie seemed to have given up on fighting. If only Vyvyan knew how true that thought actually was. If he had known, he would have strangled Rick. Perhaps himself as well. And he _should_ have paid attention to how Neil’s eyes glazed over, how his shoulders slumped, how he drew away into himself more and more each day. But he hadn’t. 

It tore Vyvyan apart how much he wished he had. 

No one would forget that scream in a hurry. That utterly bloodcurdling scream that ripped throughout the sharehouse. Vyvyan had wanted to put it down to Rick being a girly poof and he may have if it had not been for the sheer terror that laced it. It was enough to send ice through the veins of even the most hardened punks. It'd almost stopped Vyvyan bounding up the stairs to see exactly what the problem had been. 

He'd never forget the look on Rick's face. 

No one would ever forget that scream. Or what followed. The flashing lights, wailing sirens that signalled something had undeniably changed forever. No one would forget the begging or the pleading as they were told with a monotone voice just exactly what had happened. No "you called in the nick of time" 's or "glad we came when we did." 's. It was over. Vyvyan wasn't sure who'd been begging that day, he hadn't wanted to remember it.

And no one could prepare for the silence, the never ending, soul crushing silence that engulfed them for days, weeks after. The standing in the hallways and feeling inexplicably lonely. The staring at a locked door because no one could stomach going into that room again. 

They sat together but they might as well have been on different planets. Screw grief bringing people together, it’d only torn them further apart. The saying about not knowing what you had until it’s gone was true, so true that it felt as if it was mocking Vyvyan. Taunting him; he’d never believed it before but now he was _forced_ to. Talk about swallowing the ugly truth. It was the only thing Vyvyan swallowed nowadays. Feeding himself had become a worry of the past. For most of them it had. Mike had tried to keep up appearances, there was always a meal waiting on the table. And it stayed waiting, it wasn’t ever touched. It was a miracle how they hadn’t wasted away. Vyvyan wished they had. He couldn’t stand the sight of any of them, much less himself.

They all wanted to forget, pretend it hadn’t happened. Pretend, pretend, pretend. That’s all they did anymore. But they couldn’t. Death was soaked into the walls, choking anyone brave enough to stay. It wasn’t like they had much choice, none of them had any money. Moving out wasn’t possible. 

It seemed as if they’d all slowly suffocate, trapped in a mess of entirely their own making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter as I enjoy setting up the idea first, giving you a little dose of angst before jumping straight into it. I'm never overly confident in my angst writing skill to be honest so I hope this was okay! Thanks for reading :]


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